


naught come to naught

by Xenon912



Series: shadow [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alchemy, Alternate Universe - Fullmetal Alchemist, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Feelstember 2020, Gen, Human Transmutation, Implied/Referenced Parental Neglect, Loss of Limbs, Parent Death, Plague, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Whump, kind of??, this broke my writers block...by making me cry, this one is straight up sad sorry lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26470537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenon912/pseuds/Xenon912
Summary: She prayed to the God that had abandoned her thatthingwas not her father.(Multi-prompt fill for Feelstember.)
Relationships: Alrich Wren & Sabine Wren, Alrich Wren/Ursa Wren, Sabine Wren & Tristan Wren, Sabine Wren & Ursa Wren
Series: shadow [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1924342
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10
Collections: Feelstember 2020





	naught come to naught

**Author's Note:**

> This fic fills prompts 3. Flicker, 12. Nature, 18. Truth, & 27\. Blood

In retrospect, Sabine thought it was her pride that had doomed her.

It was reductionist, perhaps. She never would have done it if her father hadn't died, if she hadn't watched her mother shatter into a million pieces at his bedside, if Tristan hadn’t looked up at her and said, _I don’t know what we’re going to do_ _._ But part of her _(all of her)_ reveled in the challenge, in the insurmountable task of creating human life. She enjoyed every night she spent drawing transmutation circles, filling notebook after notebook and exhausting her mother's vast library. 

She wondered, at some point, how her mother never noticed the books she carried back to her room, but the answer came to her quickly. It was impossible to forget the hollow look in her mother's eyes, that first year after the plague, when they all had to reacquaint themselves with a now-vast and empty house.

The final illuminated lamp flickered and gave out. She lay on the floor of her bedroom, and nothing came to mind at all, only that she was cold and her heart was stuttering and screaming in her chest like it wasn't supposed to be beating. Her mouth tasted like iron. Her hands were wet with something, but she couldn't lift them. The only thing she could do was stare into the darkness and listen to the agonized wheezing of that... _thing_ she had created.

She prayed to the God that had abandoned her that _thing_ was not her father.

“Sabine?” Her mother’s muffled voice jolted her into herself, and her heart spasmed in her chest again. She was suddenly aware of how scared she was. She turned her head to look at her door, the shadow of her mother blocking the light coming through the crack under her door.

“Mother,” her mouth formed, but what came out was barely more than a whimper, drowned in the wet gasps of the creature dying beside her.

Her door exploded open, and Sabine squinted at the sudden light that poured in. “Mother,” she repeated, and a sob of terror bubbled up in her throat. “Help me.”

Her ears were ringing too loudly to hear Ursa order someone—Tristan?—to fetch help. Between blinks Ursa was at her side, scooping her up and pressing her against her chest. She felt her mother whisper her name shakily into her hair, and then, “little one. Your legs.”

Sabine looked down. She remembered the Keeper of the Gate. The universe. _God._ “It took them,” she said numbly. She tried to lift her hand off the floor, failed, and instead just stared at it. It was covered in blood, though she wasn’t sure if it was hers or not.

Her mother was shrugging out of her coat. “What?” she asked distractedly, focused on trying to stop Sabine from bleeding her life out through the cleanly-cut stump at her knees. It was, she thought, a fruitless endeavor. There was blood everywhere.

“Everything has a price,” Sabine continued, closing her eyes. Her mother’s grip around her shoulders tightened, but she felt herself slip away anyway. “Even the Truth.”

The creature had gone quiet. It was dead, just as she was about to be.

“Sabine? Sabine!”

* * *

Sabine did not die. She should have—she wanted to, she _deserved_ to—but all the same she awoke to the sound of spring songbirds. She opened her eyes, squinting against the sun that streamed through the windows of the room she was in. She was in her old bedroom, she realized, the one she’d had as a child. It had a door into her parents’ private sitting room. She’d moved downstairs after her father had died.

Sabine moved to sit up, then froze when she realized there was someone asleep on her. She grimaced as her eyes refocused, and she stared at a head of black hair for a long moment before realizing who it was.

“Mother,” she rasped. There was no response, so she lifted her arm, half-expecting to find her hand still soaked in blood, and patted her on the head. “Mother. Wake up.”

Ursa slowly lifted her head, blinking blearily. “Wha—Sabine?” She stared at her daughter with wide eyes, entirely awake, and a million emotions flashed in her eyes. “You’re awake.”

Sabine made a face. “Water,” she whispered, and felt incredibly pathetic when she almost dropped the cup her mother gave her. Ursa helped her drink, and wiped her chin when she spilled water down her front. It made her feel like a child, and it made her sick.

_Why are you relieved?_ she demanded silently. _Why didn’t you let me die?_

“How are you feeling?” her mother asked once she’d drunk her fill.

Sabine considered the question. “Like a monster,” she said at last, and Ursa closed her eyes and gave a heavy, painful sigh.

“Sabine,” she began, but Sabine cut her off.

“You should have let me die,” she snapped, and Ursa recoiled as if struck. “I broke the taboo. I created that... _thing._ I’m a monster. _You should have let me die.”_

Her mother lowered her head, shoulders hunched in pain. “Call me selfish,” she said softly. “I couldn’t lose you, too.”

Sabine stared at the far wall, eyes burning. “I wish Father hadn’t died.”

“I know.”

“I wish I could’ve cured him. I wish I’d been smart enough to cure him.”

“Sabine,” her mother said, “there was nothing on this Earth that could have cured your father. There still isn’t.”

Sabine pressed the meat of her palms into her eye sockets until it ached. “Why am I _never enough?”_

Her mother gave a watery laugh that was bitter with understanding. “Oh, little one. You will never think yourself enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I will be continuing this AU but who knows when lol


End file.
